Chapter Eleven
Cookies and Milk
“I’m just saying that without the cream it would still be an Oreo.”
“No, then it would just be a cookie. Anyone can make a cookie. The cream makes it an actual Oreo.”
“But you can eat the cookie part by itself and it’d still be an Oreo. The cream alone is nothing,” Liam argues.
“No, the cream is important.” I lean back in the passenger’s seat, stretching out my legs. “Double-stuffed Oreos. Triple-stuffed. You don’t see double-cookied.”
“It’s already double-cookied,” Liam says. “From the beginning they knew consumers would like it best.”
“You have two ears and one mouth. Does that make your mouth less important?”
“It means you should listen before you speak.”
“Don’t get all philosophical on me,” I say, crossing on ankle over the other and resting my folded hands on my stomach. I sigh dreamily. “I could eat that cream filling forever.”
“Uh huh,” Liam says, obviously disbelieving.
“I could!”
He drives silently, not replying to my emphatic statement.
I cross my arms and look out the window.
Liam and I both enjoyed the movie, despite it being aimed at children. Unfortunately we never saw anyone from school at the theater, which was the whole point of going out together. I can always create fake dates we’ve supposedly been on, but nothing beats someone from school actually witnessing the popular jock and nerd at a movie together. We’ll just have to go somewhere more public next time.
“What are you doing?” I ask, looking around. We’re in the parking lot of a supermarket.
Liam doesn’t answer. He slides out of his seat, walking to the front of the car and waiting. When I don’t appear, he shakes his head and strides to my door, opening it.
“Coming?” he says, when I make no move to exit his vehicle.
I purse my lips, pretending to think it over. “Fine.”
I keep pace with Liam into the building and down the aisles, the bright florescent lights casting an unnatural glow across his cheekbones. We pass chips, crackers, granola bars, and finally settle in front of the cookies. Liam grabs a large package of Oreos.
“No,” I say with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
He grins, tucking the cookies under his arm and winding his way to the back wall filled with fridges, where he snags a gallon of milk. “Where’re the paper cups?”
We wander around looking for them, finally stumbling across paper plates and bowls, but no cups. Liam glances at me, shrugs, and grabs a package of bowls. He pays for our items and soon we’re back in the car, the gallon of milk balanced on my lap.
Outside my window, busy streets and shops change to country homes and gravel driveways. Liam turns onto a dirt road barely discernible in the dark and our small car bumps about on the unpaved path. We stop in front of a large field, acres of wild, yellowed grass stretching to meet the night sky.
“Go find a clear spot,” Liam suggests, rummaging in his back seat for something.
I comply, grabbing our supplies and scurrying around the grass until I find a small bare spot towards the middle. Liam soon catches up, laying two sweatshirts on the ground like a blanket, and giving me one and keeping one for himself.
